


The Weight of the Future on my Shoulders

by PositivePumpkin



Series: Whumptober 2019 [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Building collapses, Crowley is Good With Kids (Good Omens), Explosions, Fluff and Angst, Other, Whumptober, Whumptober 2019, don't at me, featuring a bunch of children, marco may or may not be Marco Diaz from svtfoe, names picked from suggestions in a discord server
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-22 07:57:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20870831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PositivePumpkin/pseuds/PositivePumpkin
Summary: This is for Whumptober day 2 prompt: ExplosionIn which Crowley saves a bunch of school kids.





	The Weight of the Future on my Shoulders

He would come here sometimes, when he was feeling particularly nostalgic. Sometimes after an argument with his angel, sometimes when the years of separation got too lonely, sometimes when the memories of the Fall were too much, sometimes when he woke up thinking he was in Heaven again. Sure, he could fly up into the stars he helped create, lose himself in the nebulas of space, coat his wings in the familiar stardust until they glittered once more.

But he’d rather be here, among humans, eagerly seeing what new things they have discovered over the years. He could watch their little videos and presentations and privately laugh at what they’ve gotten wrong or applaud their curiosity without the fear of reprisal. He had asked questions once, after all.

He had Fallen for his crime, yet humans would Rise for the same. That humans could question, that they were so bloody curious, it should fill him with resentment, but instead he felt proud. In a way, Crowley could take credit for their curiosity. He had tempted them with the fruit of knowledge after all.

It was a bitter sort of irony, that he had questioned God. That he had asked her, “how could I possibly love the humans more than you?” And now, here he was. For all their atrocities, they still could delight and amaze him, and he found them easy to love. Especially the children. Little sparks of curiosity that never stopped asking questions. Humans, in Crowley’s opinion at least, were at their best when they were young.

Before they’re tainted by the world around him, not so much Crowley, as he rarely had to do anything these days. And he loved answering the questions of children. He delighted in it, not that he’d ever admit it. Aziraphale had no idea. Only knew of Crowley’s soft spot from the Ark, from, “you can’t kill kids.”

It might’ve been obvious to everyone around him however, as he was surrounded by a gaggle of children. A gaggle? Was that what you called a group of human children? Perhaps a pack, a herd, a gang, a nest, wait no, that last one is snakes isn’t it? A mob, perhaps, as they were certainly mobbing him right now. A group of children, here to learn about the stars as a school field trip, were all clamoring for his attention.

It was an accident. One of the kids asked a question, and the tour guide hadn’t had the answer. But Crowley did. That somehow led to them swarming him, asking as questions as fast as they flitted through their heads. The poor woman in charge of them had fretted, first that the children were bothering Crowley, as if that could possibly be the case, then that he might be of a bad sort, which he supposed he was. But after seeing how he handled the assault, the tiny grabbing hands, the loud shrieks of excitement, she relaxed.

Somehow Crowley was dragged along their tour, thoroughly distracted as he was by the questions, it wasn’t until he heard a soft sob that he stopped. One of the girls, Sierra, Crowley had learned all of their names (although he’d never admit to such, not even to them) had started crying and holding her hands tight against her ears. He gently quieted the other children, knowing that the noise had likely begun to overwhelm the poor girl.

“I’m sorry, sir, she can be… difficult,” The woman apologized, before trying to console Sierra and get her to move to a quieter area so the other children could still engage. The other children were more in tune with the situation than the adult appeared to be.

“She’s not difficult, she’s different, and that’s perfectly alright,” Crowley said, perhaps a bit too bitterly. The teacher, or at least, he assumed their teacher, blushed, thoroughly chastised. Still, she managed to get Sierra to agree to go to a quieter area to have some time to calm down and not interrupt the tour. Crowley promised to give her the highlights when she was done.

He was giving a sort of miniature lecture to the children still clustered around him when the screams started. He turned just in time to see an old, beaten up sedan crash into the front lobby of the building. Without even thinking, Crowley pulled the children close to him and covered them with his large black wings, just as the vehicle exploded.

This initial explosion seemed to trigger several smaller explosions throughout the building, quickly causing its collapse. Unfortunately, there was neither enough time to do anything nor anywhere to run. With the building falling around them and a huddle of scared children in front of him, Crowley did the only thing he could think to do.

He lifted his wings up, covering the children and used a combination of demonic strength and a good-sized miracle to hold the rubble in place, keeping a pocket of protected area around him and the kids. Fear turned to awe in their eyes as Crowley struggled to keep them safe. It was straining on his back, wings, and mind to keep the building from crushing them all. He couldn't have saved the other humans here, but he could save their future. So long as rescuers came soon.

"Are you an angel?" One of the boys asked, Marco, the one curious about how stars were born and if they could ever change their make. His eyes wandered from the jet-black wings to the strain visible in the demon's face, even in the low light.

"Nope, definitely not that," Crowley grunted, distracted at least from his own panic now. He looked instead to distract the group from their fears. "Keep guessing," he tried for a smirk, but it was tight with tension.

"Angels don't have black wings, you must be a Fallen angel or," a girl this time, a religious girl named Faith, because of course she was. She swallowed, suddenly nervous now, "are you a demon?"

"He's not a demon!" Marco argued back, before Crowley could get a word in. The boy worried at the sleeves of his bright red hoodie before he bit his lip and continued defending Crowley's honour, not that the demon thought he had any, "a demon wouldn't save us; besides he's got the wrong type of wings. Demons have leathery bat wings!" This of course, wasn't completely true.

"You're like an X-man, aren't you?" Jamie asked, a child after his own demonic heart, who took one look at gender and promptly decided 'no thanks.' Jamie smiled bright and in awe, "you're like Angel! Well, before he got all evil. You're a superhero, aren't you?"

"Of course, I am a hero," Crowley smiled, he didn't make a habit of lying to children, but in this instance, he felt it was warranted. Besides, he did like James Bond, who was a sort of hero. Real debonair type, just like himself. At least, Crowley thought so.

The strain of the building was further away, though certainly not forgotten as his shaking limbs protested, while he answered excited questions about being a superhero. He had made up some silly story about being a duo with his own Angel. Whom was most assuredly good, only a bit of a bastard, just enough to be worth knowing. And often needed his own saving by Demon, which was his very creative superhero name, and only because of the black off his wings he assured Faith.

His story was interrupted by a bark, as a dog burrowed its way into the confined space. It was wearing a bright vest to mark it as a working rescue dog. The children giddily tried to pet the dog as Crowley grunted from the shifting rubble putting more strain on him. The dog bit one of the kid's sleeves, Arietta, tugging on it gently before trying to lead her out through the hole it dug.

"Go on, one at a time," Crowley gently encouraged. Demons didn't typically sweat, but he had been working up one for the past however long they'd been stuck here. And he wasn't sure how much longer he could hold the literal building up. They only reason he hadn't collapsed yet was because he firmly believed he could hold it, but that belief was wearing thin with the end in sight.

One by one, the children left through the hole, making it safely out and into the arms of their worried parents and guardians. The last to leave was Marco, somewhat timidly he turned to the demon, "don't worry, Mr. Crowley, we won't tell them your secret. Thanks for saving us. When you get out, if you're not too hurt, and if you're okay with it, I'd like to give you a hug."

Crowley closed his eyes, knowing full well he wasn't getting out, "sure thing kid, now get out of here." He waited then as Marco crawled out. Waited until he could hear a human calling into the dim, letting him know they were going to open the hole some more and get him out. Crowley sighed as his body relaxed and the building finally came down.

Crowley crawled out of Hell. His body was still sore in places, which he supposed was his own fault for putting a rush order in. If the paperwork wasn't already such a bother, the gnawing anxiety and worry would have surely eaten him alive. At least the bureaucracy was distracting, if nothing else.

His first stop was the bookshop. Always. The door opened for him as it knew full well to do, and the sight of the dusty, old shop and the smell of mould and ancient tomes eased something in him.

"Dreadfully sorry, but we're quite closed," his angel's voice a welcome reprieve from the screams of the Damned. The frumpy, put-out sound of an angel being interrupted from whatever book he'd gotten stuck in was the only celestial harmony he'd ever been glad to hear.

"It's me, Aziraphale," Crowley smiled, though he made sure his voice was suitably grumpy before schooling his expression. He fixed his expression, made sure his glasses were secure on his face, and turned to view the angel walking up to him.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asked, as if it weren’t obviously the demon in front of him, before he scrunched up his nose in distaste, “did you just come back from Hell? You smell awful.” He supposed he did, but after who knows how long down there, he must’ve been nose-blind to it. He probably still smelt of ash, brimstone, Sulphur, rot, and all the nasty, festering things that were in Hell.

“Just got back,” Crowley muttered, slightly put out that the angel hadn’t noticed he was gone, but then he didn’t know how long he’d actually been gone. “What day, no, wait, what is the whole date? Day, month, year?” Aziraphale rattled off the date, only raising an eyebrow curiously at the demon. Crowley couldn’t help his sharp gasp, realizing it had been 3 years. It wasn’t much time for an immortal being such as himself, but to those kids…. He had to find them.

“Crowley, what’s wrong? Have you been in Hell since,” Aziraphale swallowed, not actually wanting to bring up the last time he saw Crowley, when they had argued so terribly. Instead of finishing that sentence, he messed with his pinky ring and looked away, shame flushing his cheeks.

“Ah, Angel,” Crowley sighed, before gesturing wildly, “after… after we last… talked, I went some place to cool down. Got discorporated.” He was a bit embarrassed at having been discorporated, merely at the prospect that _he_ had been, yet the angel never had. He wasn’t ashamed of the why though, not when those kids got to live. Which is why he had to know.

“Oh Crowley,” Aziraphale’s face crumpled in sadness, and Crowley sighed dramatically, whole body slumping. He hid his relief well, that the angel still cared about him, at least, somewhat. The angel’s hands fretted as if he wanted to do something but couldn’t let himself. Then he looked up, as if Heaven was watching, and quickly moved into Crowley’s space, causing the demon to tense, before Aziraphale was hugging him. It was over almost as quick as it began, leaving the demon standing there, mouth agape, still stunned.

“Uh,” Crowley said, eloquent as always. He swallowed and opened and closed his mouth several times, making a bunch of noises until he finally managed to figure out how to speak once more, “look, Aziraphale, I need to know, did you hear anything about a… space museum collapsing?”

“Oh,” Aziraphale seemed surprised at the new subject, but he answered dutifully all the same, “why yes. Three years ago, I received a letter of appreciation for saving a group of school children, although I had nothing to do with it. Apparently, some rather disturbed human had rigged the place to explode and drove his car into it. Caused the entire building to collapse, save for a small pocket that miraculously protected the group of children. You know, it’s simply marvelous how far human engineering—”

“Right, yes,” Crowley cut off the angel, who was put out, but allowed the demon to talk. Perhaps, thinking that he was more polite, or above such interruptions, which was absolute bollocks. The angel was the pettiest person Crowley knew. The demon huffed, “did _all_ the school kids make it out?”

“Well, yes, all the ones trapped in the rubble were saved,” Aziraphale frowned, “did you not listen? I just said—”

“No, no, yes, I got all that, Angel,” Crowley huffed, smoothing his hair back in an obvious distress signal, or at least, obvious to Aziraphale. “Look, just, did a girl named Sierra make it out okay?”

“Sierra? There was no Sierra in the museum when it collapsed,” Aziraphale’s mind was racing now. He was beginning to fit together the pictures before him, Crowley’s disappearance, his discorporation, how the kids miraculously survived. ‘You can’t kill kids,’ echoing in his head. “Crowley, did you…?”

“What, no Angel,” Crowley gasped, offended, “you can’t seriously think that _I_ caused that bombing?” Crowley huffed indignantly, of course his angel would think that. Of course. He was a demon after all, what other reason would he have to be there?

“Crowley, no, my dear,” the angel sighed, before looking at him with _that_ smile. The one where his eyes shone with unshed happy tears and his face couldn’t stop smiling, no matter how hard he tried to stop. He wet his lips before continuing, gently as if he’d spook the demon, “I know you would never do such a thing. I merely was asking if you, well, if you had been responsible for the miracle that saved all those children. And before you worry any more, Sierra wasn’t in the museum when it blew. She was outside with her chaperone following a meltdown, which I suspect you were aware of.”

“I,” Crowley couldn’t say anything in the face of the truth. Could only be relieved that Sierra hadn’t been caught, that all the kids survived. He suddenly remembered Marco’s last words to him. “Angel, I need to go, I’ve got something to do. I’ll be back tonight, think of where you’d like to eat, my treat.” He was out the door before Aziraphale could even begin to put up his token protests.

Some time later, after much searching, he found Marco. Whom was no longer a he, but a she, although she still went by Marco. And after a brief explanation of how hero’s never die, of course he came back, he got that hug he was owed.


End file.
